Sparrow

I had no idea what made me do what I did with Brennan on Friday night.

Lapse of judgment on my part, but who could blame me? He was basically the only guy who’d tried to touch me in God knows how long, and let’s face it, he was so hot the temperature in the penthouse soared every time he entered the room. True, he was also cruel—a savage in a tailored suit—but at the same time, he’d never hurt me.

Not physically, anyway.

My fear radar, sharpened by a tough neighborhood, had impeccable instincts when it came to danger. With Troy, I felt safe.

Nonetheless, the pressure between my legs was a constant reminder that my husband was an *. Who did a thing like that? Was it even allowed? Shouldn’t it be illegal in a modern Western society to stop someone from climaxing after getting her to a point where everything was tingling with pain, pleasure and lust?

The weird sensation lingered throughout the weekend. My unfinished business left me craving more, and the nagging feeling I had down there made a small part of me want to beg Troy like he had asked. Luckily, the bigger, saner part of me remembered he still had a lot of questions to answer before we’d be on good terms.

There was one thing he was right about, though. Regardless of what I thought about him as a person, I craved him like a crackhead.

Troy Brennan was the devil, but sometimes, even good girls wanted a healthy dose of evil in their lives.

He’d spent Saturday and Sunday mostly holed up in his office, but this morning I’d hoped to try and make him breakfast again. Stupid, I knew, but feigning emotional attachment made what we did together seem less dirty. More real. But by the time I woke up after another night of tossing and turning, he'd already left for work.

Whatever work meant in his world.

I was almost glad I’d rescheduled my plans to meet Lucy and Daisy, my childhood (and essentially only) friends, and agreed to join them for late morning coffee. Anything was better than another day in the empty apartment. Well, empty except for Connor, that is.

Lucy and Daisy waited for me on our usual bench, sharing a box of donuts and coffee. Lucy, a plump, pretty chick with curly blonde hair and freckles like mine, cradled the donut box as protectively as a newborn baby. Daisy was holding our foam cups. Daisy used to work in a strip club not too long ago. Men dug her raven black hair, shapely legs and impressive bust. She reminded me a little of Catalina. A less bitchy version of her, anyway.

Lucy and Daisy got along like the Starks and the Lannisters, meaning they were at each other’s throats every time I wasn’t looking, but they kept things civilized for my sake. Each of us had her own reason for being lonesome and together. We were all outcasts, but at least we had each other.

The minute my friends spotted me, they got up from the bench and threw their arms over my shoulders. Daisy placed a cup of hot chocolate in my hand. I was always the only one not to drink coffee.

Lucy tucked the donut box under her arm and brushed a few strands of red hair off of my forehead, inspecting my face. “Are you okay?”

My cheeks heated, and I hid the lower part of my face behind the foam cup. I’d taken off my engagement ring and wedding band minutes before I got out of Connor’s car, but somehow still felt them on my finger. Guilt gnawed at my gut, but I tried not to squirm.

When I didn’t answer, Lucy and Daisy exchanged meaningful looks and frowned in unison.

“Where do you live nowadays?” Lucy shoved the donut box into my chest, daring me to lie.

Well, that was fast. Not even a Hello, how have you been?

“Home,” I said, trying to muster some conviction. “At Pops’s.”

I had no idea where I was going with this. There was no plan, other than vehement denial or breaking down in tears and admitting to everything, or maybe stalling by hyperventilating.

“You never seem to be there.” Daisy narrowed her eyes, her glossy lips pouting in disapproval.

I started walking deeper among the tourists and locals, passing stands and people. I wasn’t planning on buying anything but time that day. Time was all I needed to figure out how to break the news to my girlfriends.

“Gee, thanks for the vote of trust.” My mouth twisted. “You think I’m hiding something?”

“I know you’re hiding something.” Lucy cocked her head to one side before pointing her thumb in the other direction. “And I was hoping you could start by shedding some light on why that six foot giant is following you. And don’t tell me that you haven’t noticed him, because you kept glancing his way before you saw us sitting on the bench.”

I silently cursed Connor. He was following me 24/7 and being about as discreet about it as Paul Revere announcing the British are coming. But I couldn’t explain Connor, because I couldn’t explain my marriage to Troy, because I didn’t understand it myself. My friends knew my dad was not exactly Father-of-the-Year material, but even I found it difficult to tell them I suspected he’d sold me to the son of a dead mobster.

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” I said.

“No shit.” Daisy threw her hands in the air.

A bunch of kids in matching shirts on a fieldtrip ran between our feet, and I used my friends’ distraction to look behind me. Connor was there, still following me like I was a moving target.

Lucy, the voice of reason among the three of us, spun on her heel and sent him a threatening glare. “Take another step forward, buddy, and I’m calling the cops.”